The Truck--A Symbol Love, Forgiveness and Family

Many people have asked for the story of the truck--I debated which blog to post it on--the crazy "Growing Up Doyle" blog or this one, but as I sit here tonight I realize that this truck and the story while at times amusing also is a testimony of healing, love and connection.

Last summer Christopher let us know he wanted a truck.  He opened a savings account, started trying to bargain and basically just in his Christopher typical way became obsessed.  We were all sick to death of hearing about "the truck." And virtually no one ever believed he would get one.

Early this fall there was an incident--one I'm not yet ready to share, but one that rocked my world and definitely brought my relationship with my first born son to its lowest point and then became a story of death and resurrection.  I thought I'd lost the boy I knew he was, and it tore my heart in two. I love this boy with every fiber of my body and try as he might to deny the goodness in him, I knew it was there, but this time, I was shaken to my core.  I wasn't sure he hadn't buried it so deeply that we would never find it again.  As we worked through that time, as a family, Christopher stopped talking about a truck--

Early in October, Chris said, "You know if I was going to buy a fourth car it would be a truck.  Every family needs a truck.  Maybe we should consider it."   Over the next several weeks we saw a transformation in our boy that only comes with Divine intervention, love and the uncovering of and embracing of a character that was always there but hidden behind "the cool."  That horrible incident, I believe, shattered the hard shell that he had built around himself.  Over time we have seen the pieces fall away and the man we knew he was slowly emerge.  (Let's be clear he's still a teenage boy with an attitude and a few eye rolls every now and then!)

And so began our pursuit for the truck--enter an angel and a man who refuses to be acknowledged. I can only write so much about him--let's leave it to say I said, "_________, we want to get a truck for our boy.  Here's what we want, can you help us?"  Over the next several weeks he kept me informed of what he was doing and he kept saying, "Trust me, I'll get it."  During those weeks I would often remind him that I had no plan B for Christmas--he would just smile and say, "Trust me."  And so trust him we did.  On December 15th he called and said, "Come on to the house; I've got the truck."  Chris and I drove over and there it was--a 2003 Dodge Ram.  It was perfect.

Christmas Eve afternoon on my way to my first service I decorated the bed with Ho Ho Ho tinsel and a big red bow--every 16 year old wants to drive a truck around like that right?  After the midnight service I learned that SK knew about the truck--seems when I was texting pictures on my iphone to my sister they were also appearing on my ipad and SK was using it at the time.  She'd known for 2
 weeks and had said nothing!  (She even fought with Christopher during this time over how they were going to share the volvo when he gets his license next month.)  I asked her what she thought intently watching her face for any sign of anger, jealousy, or any other emotion I could see--Chris and I had both been a little worried that she might not be pleased.  "Mama, I think it's great," she said with a huge smile on her face and her blue eyes twinkling, "I can't wait for him to have it.  He deserves it."  She truly loves her baby brother.

So we had finished three services, dinner for 9, traditional reading of T'was the Night Before Christmas, angel on the tree (these traditions were a lot easier when we started them at 7 pm instead of 12:30 am!)  After putting out all the gifts, hanging candy canes on the tree, sliding them through their hands as they slept (or pretended to sleep--I told you these traditions take forever!) Chris and I drove over to get the truck and parked it in front of our house across the street.  Off to bed we went--I've never been more excited for Christmas morning.  At 7:15 am, I couldn't stand it for another minute so I went upstairs and opened everyone's doors--I might have turned on lights as well--

Truck at his feet--key still inside

We opened stockings and then gathered around the tree.  Chris hands gifts out one at a time beginning with Santa gifts--three per child--three gifts good enough for Baby Jesus, good enough for Doyle children.  Chris handed Christopher a gift, he unwrapped it and there inside was a certified drug store plastic truck--"Ya'll are hilarious." Christopher said trying to laugh it off a little but clearly not thrilled to be the source of what he thought was a joke.  I cannot imagine why he would think we would ever do that!  He sat the truck down under his chair and probably was hoping this didn't count as one of his gifts.  We continued opening gifts.  After three or four more gifts Christopher picked the truck up again and began spinning its wheels.  "Well," he said, "At least ya'll sprang for a truck with a tool box in the back."  I couldn't stand it another minute, "Well what's in the tool box?"  "I don't know," he said as he went to open it.

 He pulled out a key and hesitantly said, "Is this a house key?" (I think he really thought we'd perpetuate this cruel Christmas joke.)  Chris and I said nothing as Christopher slowly stood up, peered around the tree and out the picture window--"is that mine?" he started to say as all four children sprinted out the door and across the street--in matching Christmas pajamas of course.

They all climbed in shrieking and full of Christmas joy and happiness for their brother. "Let's go."  "Slowly, and only through the neighborhood." Chris said.  We stood in the  street and watched our babies take off--all four happily together.

When they returned we finished opening gifts and Sarah Katherine said, "Let's go for another ride Boss."  "No," responded Christopher (I was momentarily stunned--no?) "I told William a long time ago that if I ever got a truck he'd be the first person I took cruising around.  Come on William let's go."  Honestly I felt like the grinch must have felt as his heart grew--these two boys who can look at each other and start to fight, these two boys who are as different in personality as two people can be, these two boys who for the first 6-7 years of their lives slept in the same twin bed and then seemed to become adversaries over night, were running out of the house together in a testimony of brotherly love and bonding--a promise given, received, and honored.  Christopher returned and wrapped Chris and I together in his arms--"thank you," he whispered.  In that thank you I heard "thank you for the gift, thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for trusting me, thank you for believing in me."  And in my heart I said, "Thank you for coming back to us.  I love you baby boy who stole my heart 16 years ago. Thank you for being you."

Christmas continued with much more driving--driving me to work and the family over to the grandparents.  As we were walking into their house Christopher stopped on the stairs turned and looked at his truck and said, "You know, it looks just like Chris' truck--that's pretty cool."  Chris, my step brother whom I have never met but who my boys adore and who adores them back (and so I love him fiercely).  "Yeah," I said, "It's our kind of family truck." Our family--our whole family.

So Boss has a truck and I have a symbol of death and resurrection, love and forgiveness and family--

Merry Christmas to everyone--may you each find a symbol of love to carry you through the year.